


Golden Days

by DovahKendov (dragonbxrn)



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, Dominance, Drunken Shenanigans, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hair-pulling, Light Bondage, Shameless Smut, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonbxrn/pseuds/DovahKendov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's frustrated that his wife left him. She's decided on one more night out in the city before job hunting. When the two collide in a bar, one thing leads to another and they both get a little more than friendly. Little does she know, he'll end up being her boss - and she may just be determined to impress the hell out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It had been a week since Amanda had left him. Michael couldn't place his feelings, as he was unsure if he was glad to have alone time with no bickering, or if it had made him so upset that his emotions became completely cut off. Either way, there was no getting his wife or kids back. They all hated him; he didn't even blame them. His life was a mess. Surely all of Los Santos knew.

The days seemed to blend into each other, and Michael struggled to find him things to occupy his time. Trevor moved back up to Sandy Shores after some unfortunate fallout with Wade's cousin, so he rarely made the trip down to the city unless it was for a job. Franklin got himself a nice house up in Vinewood Hills, and he spent most of his days travelling the back roads with his dog, Chop. Michael's life was empty. He found no interest in anything other than drinking an ice cold glass of whiskey every day. He'd wander around the vacant home, hearing nothing but the faint echo of the radio coming from his bedroom and the cars driving by outside. 

Michael knew he had jobs to fall back on if he really wanted it, but he already had all the money he could need. Lester, an old friend, would always hook him up with something, or Trevor would drag him into some mess he managed to get himself involved with. But Michael didn't want crime. He wanted substance. He wanted nights sitting on the patio with a cold beer in his hand, he wanted laughter, and, as cheesy as it sounded, he wanted long walks on the beach with someone who made him happy. 

Around 9:30 every Saturday night, Michael would drive himself down to his usual bar, where all the customers were regulars. Here, he'd take a seat at the bar and slowly down a glass of whiskey. He anticipated this day to come all week, every week. And finally, when Saturday rolled around, he found himself sitting at the bar - but this time, a woman he had never seen before sauntered in and took a seat right next to him. 


	2. Affinity

Michael never thought he'd see a day in his life where someone, other than a regular customer, would have the audacity to sit their ass down in a bar stool right next to him. Hell, he didn't even think anyone would even come _near_ him tonight. He was sure he radiated bad vibes. But  _this_ , this was new. As much as he didn't like strangers, he couldn't help but gaze at her ever-so-slightly out of the corner of his eye. Her hair fell down her back midway against her black leather jacket, and her skin was pale for someone who lived in Los Santos. Clearly, she wasn't from around here. Or she didn't get out much. Come to think of it, Lester was probably the same skin tone, so she probably didn't get out much. ' _Jesus, M. Stop thinking about it so much._ ' He thought to himself, and beckoned the bartender over to pour him some more whiskey. He watched impatiently, and he grasped the now filled glass and downed about half of it. 

"Here alone tonight?"

The voice came from his left, and he knew it was the woman who had come in before. Her voice was rather mellifluous, and Michael looked at her in shock, his eyes wide, as if this was the first time someone had acknowledged his existence in years. He opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out of his mouth. She smirked, and leaned her left elbow up on the bar. 

"Just say something so I know whether to fuck off or continue to make conversation," she urged, her tone playful.

Michael cleared his throat and shook his head, as if it were to clear his mind. "Yeah, yeah, I'm alone. You?" 

"Would a girl like me be in a bar like this if she were with someone?" she joked, then offered her name. 

"I'm Michael. Michael De Santa," he replied, and he outstretched his hand. She slipped her hand into his, giving a nice, firm shake. "Nice to meet you."

"And, you, Mr. De Santa," Swiveling back towards the bar, she waved her hand to get the bartenders attention. "Hit us up with some tequila shots, my fine sir." 

* * *

As the night carried on, they downed shot after shot, exchanging stories and talking about their favourite movies. Michael found her absolutely enthralling; he never once thought about anything that had been troubling him. 

"Just a reminder that the bar closes in a few minutes," The bartender shot the two a look, and Michael waved him off. 

"I guess we should go try to get a taxi or something," she suggested, slurring her words slightly. God only knew how many shots she had. 

Michael hopped down from the bar stool and he caught her hand in his. "Let's go then!" he laughed, then stumbled slightly as it was his first time walking since they started drinking. 

She giggled as he led her out of the bar and into the night. The street lights were harsh, as the bar was dimly lit, and she squinted. She shook her hand away from Michael's, attempting to hail a taxi that was passing by. Suddenly, she was pulled back into the alleyway, and she felt Michael's hands on her waist. 

"Tell me I can take you home," he whispered, his lips nearing close to her neck. The smell of whiskey radiated off him, and she slid her hands around his neck. 

"Mr. De Santa..." she began, but he clasped a hand across her mouth. 

"Just - Just tell me yes or no, sweetheart," his words were coming out slow, as if he had to try hard to enunciate properly.

He put his hand on her waist again, but there was a long silence. Michael's lips met the skin at the base of her throat, and she let out a small gasp, his warm lips trailing kisses across the skin. He whispered her name against her skin, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. She knew she was going to go home with him - she knew from the moment she sat down next to him - but she wanted to know what he was capable of before they'd leave. Biting her lip, she slid a hand into his black hair as he continued to kiss her neck. Her other hand trailed down his stomach and to his pants, where she began to trail her fingers across his length. His breathing hitched in his throat, and he let out a low growl as he slightly moved his hips forward, pressing himself completely against her body. He began to grind up against her, and she could feel him getting hard. She smirked, and gently pushed him away.

"Take me home," she said, giving him big doe eyes and a pouty look, as if she were completely innocent. He let go of her waist, grabbing her hands instead and pulling her back towards the road. He hailed a taxi almost immediately and threw open the backseats door, urging her inside. She slipped into the car, and she heard Michael mutter his address to the driver. They sped off, and she felt Michael's left hand on her inner thigh. She pretended to keep her focus on the window, a smirk emerging on her lips, and he gave her leg a small squeeze. Turning towards him, she saw his gaze fall directly to her lips. 

Her body shifted towards him and he began to lean forward, his lips parting slightly as he got closer. She could smell the whiskey on him still, the strong scent mixed with his cologne taking over her senses. He was only a few inches away; it was like he could almost taste her. Just as their lips were about to make contact, the car screeched to a halt. Michael rolled his eyes and pulled out a handful of bills from his pocket, tossing them at the driver, saying thanks under his breath. He threw open the door, his hand pulling her once more, and she followed him out onto the street. Once again, the lights were harsh, and she was forced to squint until he pulled her past the gate in his driveway and towards the front steps. She looked up, taking in the large house for the first time. She almost gasped, but she had no time to fully appreciate the size of it.

Michael urged her along, and as they reached the front step, he released her hand and fumbled for his keys in his back pocket. Finally finding them, he attempted to unlock the front door. He tried one key - no luck. A second - still no luck. ' _Third time's the charm_ ,' he thought, almost laughing out loud at himself. Thankfully, the third key did work, and he pushed open the door. He patted against the wall till he found a switch, flipping on the light in the living room. 

She followed suit, closing the door behind her. She looked at Michael, awaiting direction. She noticed he was swaying - or maybe it was her? She couldn't tell. The light lit up his face slightly, and she saw his hair was disheveled from her hands pulling on it earlier. She grinned and he took her hand once more, leading her towards the staircase. The two sped up the stairs as fast as they could, and he lead her towards the bedroom closest to the front of the house. Michael opened the door and she entered. She promptly heard the door shut behind her and once more Michael's hands slipped around her waist. She felt him breathing on her neck, his one hand holding onto her waist and the other sliding down to her thigh as he pressed himself against her. She waited for him to kiss her skin, but he made no movement.

"Are you going to be a good little girl for me?" Michael breathed, his hand moving to her crotch.

The question caught her off guard. She knew the older man would obviously show some dominance over her - but she wasn't prepared to be called ' _little girl_.' She wouldn't lie. It turned her on in the strangest way, but she decided to blame it on the alcohol. "Yes," she whispered back, and she felt his lips press lightly to the nape of her neck.

"Take off your jacket, sweetheart." he said, moving his hands to the collar of the leather jacket, tugging on it lightly. She obeyed, and he tossed it to the floor beside the bed. 

She turned around to face him and he met her gaze. Her breathing caught in her throat and she reached down to begin taking off his suit pants but he shook his head. "You'll do what I say, okay, princess?" he whispered, his voice low. He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. "Understood?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, biting her lip. She wondered if he was usually like this, or if it was the whiskey taking over his secret desires. Either way, she was finding things out about herself she never would have thought existed until now.

"Good girl," Michael said, letting go of her chin. He moved over and sat down on the edge of his bed. "Strip down to your panties, princess."

Following his orders, as promised, she began to remove her clothing. She turned away from him and pulled her white tee over her head, her hair falling down her back. Next, she kicked off her shoes and proceeded to unbutton and unzip her jeans, pushing her thumbs into the sides and pushing down slowly. She knew Michael was watching her intently, and she wiggled her bum as her jeans slid down to the floor. She slipped her hands up her sides until she reached her bra, unhooking the back swiftly and throwing it to the floor. She peeked over her shoulder to see Michael staring at her intently, the bulge in his pants obvious. She crossed her arms across her chest to cover her breasts and she walked over to Michael, swaying her hips with each step. 

 "Let me see you," he commanded as she stopped right in front of him. She dropped her arms and Michael's hands immediately moved to cup her breasts. He bit his lip as he fondled her, and she climbed onto his lap, so she was straddling his hips, her legs on either side of him. 

He leaned back as she climbed on top of him, his hands moving back down to her waist as she pressed herself against the bulge in his pants. She moved her hips up and down on him, leaning forward to put her arms beside his in order to hold herself up. Michael's breathing quickened as she continued, and she began to place kisses on his collarbone as she grinded. 

Suddenly, Michael scooped her up and flipped her over so that he was on top of her now. His hand slipped under her head, and he grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling down until her throat was exposed to him. He put his lips on her, nipping at the skin until there were marks beginning to appear. A moan escaped from her lips and her hips bucked up, her entire body craving friction. He began to kiss down her collarbone, down to her chest, on her breasts, repeating the same nipping actions to leave love bites. Michael removed himself from on top of her and he stripped off his suit until he was in nothing but his boxers. She watched him carefully, even though her head was spinning - she didn't know if it was from the lust or the alcohol. 

Michael tugged on his boxers until they hit the floor, and he climbed back on top of her. "You're all fucking mine tonight," he growled, his lips crashing into hers for the first time. He tasted like mint - and whiskey. She felt his member press against her stomach and she whimpered, craving him inside of her. She slid one hand down in between them, her fingers just meeting his erection, but he grabbed both of her hands and pinned them above her head, smirking. "No touching, princess."

She let out another whimper. "Please," she whispered, looking at him with her big doe eyes once again, moving her hips up to make contact with him again. 

"Please, what?" Michael asked, amusement showing in his eyes as he looked at her pleading face. He took one hand away from her wrists, using only one to hold her down, and he slid the other between them. His fingers met her clit and she gasped at the sudden connection, and he began to move them in circles, eliciting a moan from her again. He kept working her, his fingers occasionally sliding down to her entrance to feel how increasingly wet she was becoming. "Please, what, little girl?"

She was slightly hesitant to reply, but she took the risk. "Please fuck me, daddy," she whimpered.

"Fucking hell," Michael breathed out, immediately moving his hand and pressing his member against her entrance. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, baby. So fucking good." 

She whimpered again, watching his face as he slowly slid into her, a gasp slipping out of her mouth. Michael grunted and he looked up, his mouth hanging open. "Fuck," he groaned, moving his hips slowly, getting her accustomed to his length. He still held her wrists with one hand, and the other was placed right beside her head. 

His thrusts were rough but slow, and she found herself moaning every time his entire length filled her. Eventually, he sped up his pace, thrusting harder and harder, and she could barely contain her cries anymore. It wasn't much longer until Michael found her most sensitive spot, and she nearly screamed with pleasure when he continuously thrusted at it. 

"F-Fuck, Michael," she managed to moan out, her back beginning to arch as she hit her climax. He didn't stop thrusting, and his hands released her wrists so he could hold her head in between his forearms, his hands clasping at the top of her head. His forehead came to rest on hers as they panted together. 

"That's it, that's it," he groaned, still working his hips hard, his pace was becoming sloppy . "Cum for me, cum for daddy." 

Her orgasm shook her entire body, leaving her mouth dry and her thighs trembling. When she came down from her high, she could tell Michael was close. She took her hands and put them on his back, digging her nails into the skin. If he left his mark on her, she would do the exact same. "Come on, daddy," she cooed, looking him in the eyes, trying her hardest not to start moaning again. "You know you want to cum on me, daddy. Keep fucking me." 

Michael let out a moan, his breathing heavy. Eventually, he slipped out of her and stood next to the bed, working his length with his hand. Conveniently, she knew exactly what to do; she moved down to the floor and got on her knees, putting her hands on his hips and urging him forward as she opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue. He worked himself off until he came all over her mouth, pants still coming from him. She promptly swallowed, looking up at him and collecting the cum that hit her cheeks with a single finger and sticking it in her mouth to clean it off. 

He stuck out his hand, helping her up and he pulled her into bed with him, both of their breathing still ragged. He pulled a blanket over the both of them and he held her close to his chest, his arms encasing her gently. Exhausted, she fell asleep almost right away, and Micheal let out a soft sigh, content. He was sure he wouldn't even remember most of the night by the time he woke up, but he wished he would remember every last detail. 

* * *

 The next morning, Michael awoke to the sound of his neighbour's lawnmower and the golden glow of the sun beaming in through the window. He rubbed his eyes, and he sat up, the blood rushing to his head immediately. God, was he hungover. He groaned and rubbed his temples, then he remembered the woman from the bar had stayed over. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he slowly turned behind him, expecting to see her pale, naked body laying in his bed. Instead, he found the shape of her body underneath all of his blankets. He reached out, pressing down on the mound, but it immediately collapsed into nothing.

She was already gone.


	3. Revelation

Lester had been working as a heist planner for more than just Michael ever since Michael faked his death. He met a woman who lived in a high end apartment in West Vinewood a few years, her skills always exceeding what he expected. She obviously didn't need the money - she really had all she could want and more. But she kept coming back to Lester. Wanting work. Wanting _something_ to do with her time. Lester always set her up, as it gave him a fair chunk of the money as well. Lester thought it was about time he got her in on one of the bigger heists - one of the ones he would normally give Michael, Trevor, and Franklin. The four of them could surely take down anything together. When she called him up, Lester clued her in on the heist, and she accepted before Lester could even ask if she wanted time to think about joining up.

* * *

 

Michael sat on his patio, scrolling through Lifeinvader on his phone. His mind kept swerving back to the night with the woman from the bar, but he knew he needed to get his shit together. He probably wouldn't see her again, and it was silly of him to spend a chunk of his time daydreaming. He shook his head, and he leaned his head back, closing his eyes. Suddenly, his phone rang, and he nearly fell off the chair.

"Lester, what's up?"

Lester filled him in with a few details, suggesting they meet up so he could explain it better. He had given Michael a location, and Michael groaned as he realized he would have to actually have to put an effort into getting dressed. Lester said he was going to introduce him to a new heist member, someone who would prove useful in more than just one area. Michael called up Trevor and Franklin, passing on the information to the two of them, as well as the given address. He rose from where he was lounging and went into his house, making his way up to his room to change. Once he got into a nice clean black suit, he rubbed the scruff on his face, realizing how exhausted he really looked. He shrugged, not really interested in impressing anyone. He was going to be there for a job, for money. Not to impress people he didn't know. Michael pivoted on his heel and headed down to his car. Once he pulled out of the garage, he looked at the address on his phone, making note that it wasn't that far away from his own home. 

He drove to his destination and parked out front of the apartment, stepping out of his vehicle and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one quickly and proceeded to called Trevor, speaking as soon as he picked up.

"Trevor, are you at the apartment?" 

"Around the corner. Did ya miss me?" Trevor replied, his voice mocking. Michael couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Sure. Hurry up. I think Franklin's here already. His car's parked nearby," Michael said, then hung up, moving to the sidewalk and finishing his cigarette.

He heard Trevor's truck before he saw it, and the vehicle swerved around the corner and screeched to a halt right behind Michael's, nearly hitting it.

"Jesus Christ, Trevor. Watch yourself," He shouted as Trevor stepped out of his truck, approaching him. Michael took in his appearance: he was wearing dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt, but somehow he still managed to looked greasy.

"Whatever, man. Let's go meet this new recruit."

The pair enter the building together, heading through the lobby and into the elevator. Arriving at their designated floor, they walked to the end of the hall to the apartment. Michael knocked on the door, hearing the muffled sound of the radio coming from behind the door. Trevor grunted and moved Michael out of the way, shoving open the door, as it was already unlocked. He stumbled into the room and Michael followed, the two taking in their new surroundings.

"Well, la-dee-da. We have a big shot here, don't we?" Trevor chuckled, then yelled, "Lester?!" 

"In here," The nasally voice came from their right, and Trevor trudged over to the next room with Michael trailing behind. 

Trevor stopped in the doorway, placing his hands on his hips. "Well, _hello_  ! Lester, you didn't say we'd be working with a dime," He snickered, looking over their new recruit with intense lust coming over his senses.

Michael rolled his eyes. Of course he'd be attracted to the new recruit - especially if the new recruit was female. Michael expected someone butch looking, someone who didn't typically pass off as a feminine woman. Michael didn't think a woman who could properly pull of a heist would be anything but manly. Trevor entered the room slowly, whistling as he walked behind the woman, taking in her body. Michael followed, nodding to Lester, and Franklin - who was sitting in a chair near the other end of the room - and then his eyes met hers. He looked away, and then suddenly his heart stopped.

It wasn't.

It couldn't have been. 

Michael swallowed, and he returned his gaze back to the woman slowly.

It was _her_. The woman from the night before. He felt his face flush red. Lester introduced Michael and Trevor to the woman, gesturing to her, then introducing her to the two of them.

The woman crossed her arms, smirking as she stared Michael right in the eyes. "Well, now that we're officially acquainted... let's get to the details, shall we?" 


	4. She Leads

The heist was aimed at the Pacific Standard - a bank located in downtown Vinewood. The score wasn't all that big, four million at most, but past takes for the four of them hadn't been so large once split. Michael was sure they'd be able to do it without much hassle, but he was mostly interested to see how a woman would operate during a heist. Trevor kept throwing sexual remarks at her while she gave the two of them the rundown of the job, and Michael could see the disgust on her face every time he said something.

"Are there any questions?" She asked after finishing her explanation, standing in front of the planning board with her arms crossed. Michael would've called it her power pose.

"What are the chances of you and I going out?" Trevor smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"Jesus. Anything else?" She rolled her eyes, her gaze coming to land on Michael. He shook his head, avoiding looking at her face. "Alright. Well, in case you're too much of a pansy to ask, I'll be giving Franklin - who is conveniently stuck in the elevator - a run down when he comes back if you need to hear it again. There's a variety of booze on the island in the kitchen if you feel like treating yourself."

Lester cleared his throat, waving his cane in the direction of the two men. "As much as I know you probably want to return to your exciting lives, I have to speak with you about a set up in detail. Meet in the kitchen."

With a grunt, Trevor turned and exited the heist room, Michael following. He wanted to look back at her, just to take in her appearance once more before he left, but he didn't. He would've looked desperate, and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Good work. You seem like a natural born leader. Might even push Michael out of his top position," Lester laughed, nodding at her before hobbling out of the room to meet the boys in the kitchen.

* * *

Michael's eyes danced over the numerous bottles of liquor displayed on the counter until he found a good brand of whiskey. There were more bottles of red wine - malbec and pinot noir - than anything else, and he hated that he made a mental note of it. Trevor grabbed a random bottle and popped the top off, taking a massive swig before setting it down on the counter. 

"That lady is smoking hot, Michael," Trevor remarked before grabbing a different bottle and examining the labels. "And she's smart, too. She's the eager soliderette I've always needed."

"Relax, T. She's basically our boss on this one. Don't fuck around," Michael glared at him as he sipped on his whiskey, and saw Lester approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Intimidating, isn't she?" Lester commented, pulling out a stool from the island and sitting down on it. He shook his head and laughed to himself. "Barely know anything about her. Just know she's probably a master criminal and we're just seeing the soft stuff."

"Where'd you even find her?" Michael blurted out, setting down his glass on the counter.

"Online, of course. She seemed like she had a lot of potential, so I started setting up small scores for her. I'd never hear anything during the job, either. She'd just come, get the job, leave, and return with the take. Then she'd disappear for a month or so. If there's any word to describe that girl, it's definitely ' _enigma_.'" 

Michael chewed on the inside of his cheek. He certainly did find her mysterious, but he couldn't let it get in the way of the job - especially if she was his boss and would be watching his every move. 

"It's not like she needs the money. Look at this place! I can only imagine how many cars she has." Trevor scoffed, putting out his arms and gesturing to the whole apartment. "You think she'll tell me if I ask?"

"Who cares, T! We gotta figure out who is gonna get what for the set up. This is a score we _can't_ fuck up," Michael said. 

"Michael's right," Lester interjected, his tone becoming serious. He leaned in towards the two. "We have to be precise about this one. It's our first bank in a long time, so we'll have to be prepared for anything. I want the both of you, and Franklin, to get the Merryweather convoy - and Trevor, I expect you to take this seriously, even through all your hatred. We'll move onto the next part after we have the thermal charges. Got it?"

The two murmured an agreement and went back to looking through the booze on the counter.

* * *

About half an hour later, she emerged from the heist room with Franklin trailing behind her. 

"Y'all look like you're half dead," Franklin chuckled, looking at Michael and Trevor lazily sitting down on the couch, a couple liquor bottles on the table in front of them. 

"We've been waiting for you! Stuck in a damn elevator," Michael snorted, then looked back to make eye contact with Franklin, but instead he caught her eye - and, as expected, she was looking down at him, her arms crossed, that sly smirk on her face. He swore his jaw dropped a little bit. 

"Can't believe this," Franklin said, flicking Trevor in the head. "It's only 7 and y'all are zombies. Messy."

"Don't you touch me!" Trevor yelled, and stood up quickly - too quickly - and fell back onto the couch. "Oh, _boy_." 

"Are you two drunk?" she laughed, leaning over the back of the couch in between the two of them, looking at Michael and then over at Trevor. "It's been less than an hour, you bastards. Get up, I'll drive you home." 

"Sorry about them," Franklin apologized, his hand coming to touch her elbow as he lead her away from the couch, out of earshot. "They're fools sometimes. I'll take T to my house - he lives in Sandy Shores, so it'll be late by the time you'd get back. You got Michael?" 

"Yeah, I'll take him. Thanks, Franklin," she smiled softly - it was the first time Franklin had seen her let down her hard exterior. She pat him on the shoulder and pivoted. "Up, up, Trevor. You're going home with Franklin tonight. Isn't that exciting?" 

Her voice was high pitched and mocking, as if she were speaking to a toddler. Michael laughed. In fact, he laughed so hard he felt abs beginning to develop. Trevor stood up and slammed a pillow at Michael, his face turning red. "Screw you, Michael. You're no better. You're a drunkard just like me!"

"Whatever, T. Go home!" Michael laughed, pushing the pillow to the floor.

Trevor reached out for her, and she grabbed his arm as he stumbled towards Franklin. "Good bye, you beautiful woman," he slurred, waving in her general direction as the two of them left. 

When she heard the door shut, she turned back to Michael, who was sitting on the edge of the couch rubbing his face. "You good to walk on your own?" she asked, and Michael felt his heart stop. They were alone, and he could feel a thin veil of awkwardness settling around him. 

"I'm fine," He said, standing up. "I didn't drink as much as T." 

She said nothing in return and began to head towards the front door. 

"Fuckin' A," Michael muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He patted his pockets for his keys until he found them and fished them out. He followed her out the door and into the hallway, where she stood waiting for the elevator. 

He awkwardly stood behind her, the scent of her perfume wafting towards him. It was obviously flowers... lavender, maybe? He didn't know. He wanted to think he didn't care, but something about her was so... _enticing_. Michael was snapped out of his daze when the ding of the elevator announced it's arrival, and they headed into the elevator, sticking to the opposite side, pressing his temple against the cool metal. 

"Give me your keys," She said, holding out her hand without looking at him. 

"What?" He looked at her skeptically, clutching his keys tighter in his hand.

"Your keys. So I can drive you home?" She looked over at him, and he could tell she was holding back that signature smirk of hers. 

"Oh. Right," He held out his hand and dropped the keys into her palm just as they reached ground level. 

The pair headed out into the cool Los Santos evening - the air refreshing to Michael - and she stopped at the sidewalk until she spotted Michael's car. She walked to it, unlocked the doors, and slid into the drivers seat. Michael threw open the car door and resisted the urge to groan as he got into the passengers side. He felt a headache coming on, and he was in the mood to get right into bed. She started the car and turned the radio to Los Santos Rock Radio - one of Michael's favourites - and Robert Plant began to play softly. As she drove, Michael couldn't help but keep stealing glances at her. The streetlights reflected off her face, and he felt himself caught up in her allure and arcane aura. It was only a few minutes before she pulled into the driveway of his house, and he didn't realize how close they actually lived. She stopped the car in front of the garage and turned off the ignition, slipping out of the car and coming over to the passenger side.

"Let's go, you goon," She said, opening the door and pulling him out of the car. He was perfectly able to do this all himself - but he didn't object. She held onto his arm as they approached the front door, and she fumbled around with the keys until she managed to find the one that worked. She pushed open the door and took in her surroundings, sober this time, and she bit her lip. The place was bigger than she remembered, and she led Michael over to the stairs, where they ascended slowly. Michael took his time. He didn't know when he would see her again. When they reached the top, she went to room she remembered to be Michael's and pushed open the door. The bed was unmade and she noticed clothes sprawled at the foot of the bed. She smirked as she thought about their drunken night together, and she let Michael go so he could get into bed. When she turned her back on him, he stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. He heard her fumbling around in his bathroom, and then the tap running. She returned with a glass and one of her fists clenched. 

"Here," she said, holding out her closed hand. "Take one now and then one when you wake up. It's just for headaches. I assume you'll have one if you don't already." 

Michael sat up and let her drop one of the pills into his hand, taking the glass in the other. He popped the pill into his mouth and drank the water, then leaned back in bed after she took the glass back. She put the remaining pill and the rest of the water on the nightstand then headed towards the door. "I'll leave your keys in the kitchen."

"Thanks, mom," Michael said jokingly, and he heard her laugh. He felt his heart swell, but he convinced himself it was the whiskey. 

"Oh, my god. I can _not_ believe you," she laughed, then shook her head, turning off the lights and shutting the door.

He heard her go down the stairs, drop the keys onto the kitchen counter, and then leave the house. He laid in bed, his headache pounding at his skull slightly, and he smiled drunkenly at the ceiling. 


	5. The Pacific Standard Job

Michael woke up the morning of the heist with nervousness residing in his bones. He wasn't sure why, but he tried not to think about it was he waited for his coffee to brew in the kitchen. He quickly poured a cup when it was finished, taking small sips. He wondered if today was going to go well and if the crew was going to pull through. More specifically, he wondered if  _she_ was going to pull through. Michael smirked to himself at the thought because, obviously, she would. He had only seen her at one part of the set up, but she had done her job so swiftly and efficiently, he might as well have not been there at all. Finishing the rest of his coffee, Michael left the empty mug on the counter top and headed out into whatever Los Santos had waiting for him.

The day of the heist was a good one: a sunny, cloudless Tuesday. Michael and the rest of the crew and accumulated all of the required assets for the heist over the past two weeks with ease. Over time, the leadership slowly found its way back to Michael, despite it seemingly being shoved onto the group's new favourite female companion. He still felt the pressure to impress her.  

Putting out his cigarette, Michael headed into the apartment building. When he finally got to the right room, he didn't bother knocking on the door, walking right into the place he had been in not too long ago and had come to familiarize himself with. The air smelled fresh, as if it had just rained outside, the scent wafting in through an open window. He sat down in a chair, looking up and meeting her gaze. Michael felt his heartbeat immediately quicken, and he cleared his throat.

"Hi," Michael managed to say, making eye contact with her. She stood there, leaning against a table with her arms crossed, dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt, and her leather jacket. He never saw her without it. 

"How are you?" She asked, looking at him with amusement. She noticed Michael had grown out his facial hair to some extent since she last saw him. It gave him a sexy, scruffy look, and she couldn't help but smirk at the observation.

"Fine, fine," Michael watched as she licked her lips, and he felt himself become a little... _needy_. "You?"

"Ditto, my man. Ditto. You nervous?" 

"Nah. This ain't my first rodeo." 

"Sure it isn't," she laughed, shaking her head at the cliché line. "Everyone's already waiting in the garage. Shall we go?"

Michael nodded, standing up straight and wiping his sweaty palms on his black pants. The pair silently waited for the elevator, and she could feel Michael's eyes burning into her skin. Despite her cavalier demeanor, she was ready to try to impress him on the job. She didn't think the heist was a particularly hard one, but she had never operated with a group who had such a past together, giving her the feeling she was either overpowering the operation, or she was simply just a fourth wheel. As the two stepped into the elevator, she stayed close to the wall. Had they not previously hooked up, she would've made her move now. Michael was the same, but he felt his palms growing sweaty as they were in the confined space. As the elevator reached the parking garage, they both exhaled loudly as if they were holding their breath, their nerves affected by each other silently.

* * *

The four of them in the car were unusually quiet; nobody was trying to make witty banter, not even Trevor. When they got to the bank, all suited up in their completely black attire and various hockey masks, they wasted no time busting out of the car and charging their way inside. Michael was quick to zip tie the door and shove a plank through it so no one could get in, or out. Franklin passed the bag of thermal charges to Trevor, which Michael had protested to. God only knew what Trevor was capable of with them at his disposal. Despite this, Franklin insisted they give him a shot. Michael watched as the three signaled that they were ready to make their way into the lobby of the bank, and he nodded in response, cocking his shotgun at the security guard to his left. The guard heard his footsteps and he turned around, his face contorting with complete shock before Michael bashed him in the head, knocking the man out. He heard Trevor screaming for the patrons to get on the ground, and looked up to see him with his gun pointed through the Plexiglas teller window. Where Trevor should've been, someone was crouched and fastening the thermal charge to the gate. Michael thought it could've been her, despite it being Trevor's job. He shook off the idea and continued to hold his gun in the direction of the people inside the bank. When the thermal charge broke through the metal framing, Franklin barged through the gate. Michael watched as she moved immediately to the next door, fastening the charge and moving away before it could go off. Michael was wildly impressed; she moved with such grace and determination, even in the most stressful environment. Franklin pushed through the next gate, beckoning to Trevor to go with him. She handed off the bag with the remaining thermals and replaced Trevor's spot, aiming her gun towards the tellers. If she slipped up and allowed the panic button pressed by a teller, the authorities would make their job a whole lot harder than it already was.

It wasn't long before the pair of men surfaced from the underground vault, their bags stuffed with every last bit of money left in the bank. Michael had already shot down the guards that tried to come down from the floor above them, and she had been waiting for the cops to arrive outside of the building. He ordered Franklin and Trevor to keep the bags close as they ran for the front door. 

"Ready?" Michael asked, looking at the masked faces in front of him. Everyone had their guns cocked, ready to shoot at will. "Cops here?"

"Not a lot. Yet." she replied, her voice muffled. 

Michael chewed on the inside of his cheek as he cut the zip tie off the door, stashing the knife back into it's sheath at his side. He kicked open the door and was immediately greeted by at least half a dozen cop cars and a SWAT team waiting on the intersection for the group. The four of them trudged out the door, shooting towards anyone who dared to try to stop them - which was pretty much everyone in their path. The whirring of helicopter blades were heard above the group, and Michael watched in awe as she managed to take down everyone on the aircraft. Keeping the bags of money away from the increasing amount of police officers shooting at them was the hardest part about the escape, but as soon as they reached their getaway motorcycles, the chase was about to become twice as dangerous as before. One wrong turn could be fatal.

"You guys have to follow me. Trust me on this, alright?" she yelled over the roar of the engines. The three men were slightly reluctant, exchanging almost undetectable glances through their masks. She realized their hesitancy and pulled her black and red hockey mask off her face. "Look, we don't have time to waste, and if we go the wrong way we're going to die. I saw an escape route different than our planned on that would be easier for all of us, so just  _trust_ me." 

Everyone silently agreed by not saying a word back to her, and Michael nodded to her when she looked over. It was a small gesture of reassurance; reassurance that someone had faith in her. It gave her some relief, and she revved the engine before taking off down the street. 

* * *

The ride was half the battle. Most roads were closed off, but she knew exactly which way would get them the farthest away from the police chasing them. They reached the boat quicker than any of them anticipated, and they drove off into the ocean with sweat dripping from their foreheads and the bags of money stashed under the two back seats. Michael observed that not a single siren could be heard from where they were, and it was all thanks to her. He couldn't help but smile as Franklin drove the boat farther out into the sea, stopping once they could no longer see land. 

"We really just did that," she exclaimed, the three men turning to look at her slightly red face. "We make a good team."

"Damn right, we do!" Trevor cheered, throwing his hockey mask into the ocean. "We gotta celebrate as soon as we're back. That was a huge score."

 Everyone agreed, and Michael pushed his damp hair back. "We'll do it at my place as soon as we can. It's the least I could do since we planned this whole thing at her apartment."

"Oh, shucks. What a charmer," she jested, grinning at him, then picked up one of the bags of cash. "But first, let's split this shit up. I'm ready to roll around in it naked!"


	6. Opulence

The night the heist group planned to meet up was a week after the job was done. They had all decided to lay low for a few days, not meeting up or having any contact with each other. She had advised splitting up might keep them safer than they already figured they were. Michael spent the seven days thinking of seeing her again, and he wondered what she was doing the entire time she was away. Little did he know, she was doing the exact same thing, standing out on her balcony and throwing back glasses of wine while staring out over the city; but neither of them would dare to admit it. It was all about keeping up their cool exteriors and not giving anything away. After all, they were working together; but she would tease Michael when they happened to be alone together, calling him daddy just to see him blush. Michael constantly got caught up in fantasizing about her; he would imagine her hair messed up from them fucking in bed all day together, but he also thought about kissing her softly and treating her to romantic dates. He would never go back to a drunken hook up, especially after the things they did, but she really was something else.

Michael snapped back to reality when he heard a car pulling into his driveway. He slowly moved from the kitchen to the front door, pulling it open and expecting to see the three of them standing there, ready to get drunk and as rowdy as they could be after waiting to celebrate for a week. Instead, she was standing on his front step, a bottle of Merlot in one hand and her car keys in the other. 

She judged the somewhat shocked look on his face and frowned. "Am I too early?"

"No! No. I just expected you to be with Trevor and Franklin, too," he trailed off, looking behind her to see his driveway gate closing. "I assume you don't know where they are."

"No damn clue. But I'm not waiting for them," she shrugged, and squeezed past Michael in the door frame, heading straight for the kitchen. Before he could even shut the door, he heard the cork pop off the wine bottle.

"To our newfound wealth and, uh, you know, teamwork, or whatever," she cheered, raising the bottle in his direction when Michael came into the kitchen. She then took a huge sip of the red wine.

Michael laughed and shook his head, reaching for the bottle of whiskey left on the counter. "Or whatever," he jested, then took a swig for himself. 

He watched as she placed the bottle delicately onto the island counter, then moved to his side of the kitchen, fixated on something behind him. When she stopped directly behind him, he pivoted on his heel to look at what she was so interested in and was slightly confused when he found her smelling the flowers he had left in a vase on the counter. Michael couldn't tell if it was her perfume or the flowers that smelled so good. Deep down, he knew it was her, but he didn't say anything. He watched as she touched the petals of the flowers with delicacy.

"You know, you did helluva good job last week," Michael said quietly, leaning his back against the counter, the bottle of whiskey still in his hand. "But I didn't expect anything less."

She stopped smelling the flowers and looked over at Michael, a grin spread across her face. "You think so?"

"I know so. You're talented. We would've been caught by the police for sure if we didn't listen to you at the getaway. I'm impressed."

Standing up straight, she moved her body towards Michael, taking a small step forward, trying to close the gap without seeming too obvious. Michael's breath caught in his throat as he watched her move closer, her hands coming up to tug at the lapels of his suit. Their bodies didn't touch, but he felt his face growing hot. 

"I'm glad," she murmured, looking down at his chest. "I just wanted to impress my daddy." 

Michael cursed under his breath, then let his head fall back as he let out a sigh. "You ought to stop teasing, you know. Someone's going to catch you in the middle of a joke."

"What if I'm not joking?" she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "And what if I want them to know?"

He looked down at her, her cheeks flushed with red as if she were nervous about it, and that's when Michael realized she _really_  wasn't joking. He suddenly felt as if his suit pants were a little too tight for his comfort. "What do you want them to know, princess? That daddy fucked you? Had you screaming for more?" he cooed, his voice deep and antagonizing. 

Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor at his words, and her hands dropped to her sides in shock. After all her teasing, Michael was giving in and giving it right back. She watched as he set the whiskey bottle back onto the counter, and his gaze met hers once more. He took his hands and put them on her cheeks, as if he was about to kiss her. "Michael, I-" she began, but he promptly cut her off. 

"You think you can just tease and tease without some consequences?" he whispered in her ear, his dominant side showing. "You _do_ want to be daddy's little girl, don't you?"

She couldn't help but smile softly as the familiar scent of whiskey coming off of him, and she decided to comply. "You know I do." 

"I don't want to punish you," he said gently, letting go of her face and brushing the hair away from her neck. "But something has to be done."

Chills ran up her spine from the combination of his words and his lips meeting the base of her neck. She thought back to their first drunken escapade together, and she closed her eyes. Just then, another car, presumably Trevor's truck by the awful sound it was making, pulled into the driveway of Michael's house. Michael immediately cleared his throat as she stepped back away from him, her arms crossing against her chest. He heard her let out an exasperated sigh, and he straightened out his suit jacket, looking at her staring at the floor briefly before turning to greet the other men.

The front door to the house burst open with Trevor standing there in a wet t-shirt and ripped jeans. "I might've spilled some of our booze," he grinned, as if it was on purpose.

Franklin walked up the steps behind him, shaking his head. "Man will be blacked out in twenty minutes. Callin' it now." 

Trevor yelled something unintelligible to him in response before falling onto the couch in the living room. Franklin shut the door, coming to meet the pair in the kitchen. "We late?" 

"Just in time," Michael grumbled, grabbing the bottle of whiskey off the counter and taking another swig. 

Franklin shot her a look, to which she returned, and then gestured to the bottles of liquor on the counter. "I'm sure what our good friend Michael meant was help yourself," she smiled, as if she wasn't just as annoyed as him that the two men had shown up. She poured herself a glass of wine, sipping at it quietly as Michael and Franklin chatted about the heist.

* * *

 Around two in the morning, things began to wind down. The group of them joked, sometimes argued, and had a few heartfelt moments while drinking the night away; eventually, Trevor passed out on the couch, later than predicted, and Franklin did the same. It was almost like she and Michael were alone. 

She had made her way outside, rolling up her jeans and putting her feet into the cold water of the pool. The Los Santos air was warm, but the breeze that came by every so often caused her hair to blow in the wind and send a shiver down her spine. Michael had been watching her from the kitchen for awhile, contemplating going out there and trying to get things heated again. The sexual tension between them only got worse with the time they spent with each other, and Michael wasn't sure how much longer he could stand it. Sighing, he pushed open the patio door and made his way to where she was sitting. She must have heard him walking, because her head snapped into his direction, her eyebrows furrowed as if she expected to be alone all night. When she realized it was Michael, her gaze softened and she put her hands out behind her for support as she leaned back. 

"Hey," Michael said quietly, pulling one of the lounge chairs to the edge of the pool. "Want some company?"

 "I guess," she sighed, then gave him a soft smile before looking up at the night sky. "Tonight was good."

"Yeah," he agreed, sitting down on the edge of the chair and following her gaze by looking up. Michael didn't know how he could segue into any other topic, and the silence between them grew. 

A few moments passed and Michael looked back down to see if her gaze had shifted. To his surprise, she had been looking at him with a soft expression he had never seen on her face before; if he was reading her right, it was a mixture of affection and worry.

"You alright?" he asked, leaning forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. 

"No. I mean, yes, I'm alright, but I'm just wondering. Don't you think it's odd we meet one night and the next day we're working together as criminals?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows and waiting for a response.

"Must be fate."

"Oh, fuck off. You don't really believe in that shit, do you?" she groaned, moving from her relaxed position and standing upright to look down on him with her hands on her hips.

"No," he began, looking up to meet her gaze. He reached out for her hand and gently pulled her closer. "What I do believe is that this was all a fucking coincidence. A wildly _lucky_  one, but a coincidence nonetheless."

She allowed Michael to pull her in, her left hand coming to rest on his shoulder while he continued to hold her other hand. She looked down at him, searching his face for any more emotion than he was giving her verbally, but all she got was the exact same thing: pure honesty and attraction. Michael let his free hand come to rest on her waist like he was going to pull her in more at any second. He murmured her name, as if he hadn't already captured her full attention. 

"I can sit here all night and be sappy with you," he said, his voice quiet but his tone serious. "But you started something earlier tonight that you need to finish."

She felt her face growing hot, and she was unable to determine if he was the reason or if it was the alcohol affecting her. Deciding it was a healthy dose of both, she squatted down so she was just below his eye level. "What're you saying, Michael? That you wanna take me up to your room and _fuck_ me?" 

Michael reached out and grabbed her face with one hand, his palm covering her mouth. He felt her press her lips to the skin, and he leaned closer to her face. "That's exactly what I'm saying. But you ought to call me daddy now because you're going to be screaming it out soon anyway. I'll meet you in my room." 

Shocked by his sudden show of dominance, yet entirely aroused by it, she stood up after he released his grip and she promptly obeyed. He hadn't even touched her sexually and her entire body was tingling with anticipation. She knew from their first hook up that Michael was dominate, but she had just assumed it was from being drunk. Tonight, Michael had only a few sips of his whiskey, leaving him mostly coherent. The thought of him touching her again excited her, and when she tiptoed into his room and sat down on his bed, she almost couldn't sit still. Michael's room looked the exact same, even after all the time that had passed since she was last in it. She lay back in the bed, closing her eyes as she waited to hear his footsteps coming up the stairs. While waiting, she began to think about their first and only sexual encounter.

_"Are you going to be a good little girl for me?"_

The words from that night echoed through her head and she found herself increasingly aroused as she thought about his disheveled hair, his crooked yet mischievous grin, and his big arms pinning her down. She was tempted to slide a hand down her jeans and into her panties, but she suddenly felt the weight shift on the bed. She opened her eyes and was greeted by Michael hovering above her on his hands and knees.

"Looks like you were about to get started without me," he teased, pressing a kiss to her temple. He moved back off the bed, and pointed to the edge of the mattress. "I want you bent over this."

She had a lump in her throat as if she was a child that had just been caught, her cheeks flushing red. Doing as she was told, she leaned over the edge of the bed, her ass sticking out towards Michael. She felt his hands come to hold her waist, but they lingered only for a second as he slid them forward to undo the button her jeans. His fingers came to hook in the top of her jeans, yanking them down and leaving her in just her t-shirt and panties. She stepped out of the jeans and Michael pushed them aside, his hands coming to caress the now exposed skin.

"Spread your legs for daddy," he whispered, putting his hand on her inner thigh once she did. He ran his fingertips up her inner thigh and onto her crotch, taking note that her panties were nearly soaked. "Were you thinking of me before I got up here?"

All she could do was nod her head in response, followed by a gasp, as Michael had pulled down her panties and began to lick at her entrance. Once he elicited a moan from her, he moved away and licked his lips, taking his middle and ring fingers to rub between her thighs. Once wet enough, he pushed them into her slowly, causing her knees to buckle in a desire to have more inside. She moaned when she felt him curling his fingers, her hands grabbing onto the duvet for support. Eventually, she could barely keep her legs separated as he moved his fingers in her. 

"Do you want more, princess?" Michael cooed, but she didn't need to reply. He knew exactly what she wanted, and he was going to give it to her. He stood up and began to unbuckle his belt, sliding it out of the loops and moving closer to her. Michael took the leather belt and put it around her wrists, closing it as tight as he possibly could without hurting her unintentionally. She lay there on the bed, no longer able to clutch onto the blanket while he touched her, her toes pushing down into the carpet as her only support. 

Listening, she heard Michael unzip his pants, and she peeked back to see him taking off his suit jacket, leaving him in his white dress shirt and black slacks. He didn't bother taking off any of his other clothes; he simply pushed down the fabric of his boxer briefs and pulled his hard cock out. She watched as he began to work his length, his eyes trained on her ass which was still pushed out towards him. His left hand came out to grab her ass again while he continued to stroke his cock, the precum gathering on the tip as he watched her face.

"You want daddy to fuck you, don't you? You want to be Daddy's dirty little slut," he breathed, pressing the tip of his cock to her entrance. He rubbed it up and down to tease her, waiting for her to beg for him to give all he had. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me," she whimpered, trying her best to look at him standing behind her. He looked domineering while over her, his scruff making him look grizzled and more mature than usual. She could've drooled just looking at him.

"Hard?"

"Hard."

She felt his hands grabbing onto the belt wrapped around her wrists, and his cock slowly pushed into her, causing her to tingle all over. He wasted no time increasing his pace and roughness, his thighs meeting her ass as he filled her with his length. Michael pulled on the belt, so she was arching up slightly, and his free hand reached out to pull on her hair as he pounded into her. She could feel her body tensing up and her toes curling again as she moaned his name, his thrusts keeping their quick, hard pace. An orgasm washed over her body, her eyes almost rolling into her head as her mouth hung open while her thighs shook. Michael continued to fuck her through it, and the pleasure coursing through her body was unlike anything she had ever felt before. After a few more thrusts he slid out of her, pulling her up to stand straight by her wrists. She could barely manage to stay up, her thighs still shaking and her head still feeling light from the orgasm. She felt him undoing the belt and heard it clank to the floor, her wrists now unrestrained. She waited for direction, but Michael climbed onto the bed and lay down, his head on the pillow. He silently beckoned to her and she crawled over to him, straddling his hips. 

"Sit on my face," he grinned, and she couldn't help but giggle. He put his hands on her waist as she clambered up farther so her crotch was right above his face, and he pulled down on her hips so he could taste her again. She felt his tongue flicking at her clit, and she instantly moaned, her body still sensitive from before. Michael held her down by her waist, and immediately her body began to quiver again. Every time she moaned out 'daddy,' Michael worked harder to pleasure her, only resulting in her second orgasm. It didn't take him long to achieve it, and he licked up all her wetness in response. 

Before he had time to tell her what to do next, she pulled out of his grasp and moved down so she could push herself down onto his cock. Michael moaned her name as she began working her hips up and down, both of their breathing becoming heavier and heavier. She didn't expect to orgasm again, but she was dead set on getting him to cum. Watching the pleasure show on Michael's face, she worked her hips in an effort to reciprocate what he had given her tonight. 

"I'm gonna-" Michael groaned, not even able to finish his own sentence. She slid off his erection, her hands quickly moving to take over. She noticed him pumping his hips ever so slightly as she worked her hands up and down his cock, and she stuck out her tongue in preparation for his cum. With a final moan, Michael came all over her mouth, the hot liquid salty on her taste buds. She wasted no time licking it off his cock, watching his face relax as his orgasm finished. Their gaze met and he couldn't help but smile, laughing slightly as his head hit the pillow. She licked her lips, then moved to lay beside him in the bed, his face slightly damp from sweat. He put his arm around her, pulling her in close, and she snuggled into his side, her hand resting on his chest. 

"You are amazing. C'mere," he said simply, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He then put his fingers under her chin, pulling up so she was looking at him. He moved his down slightly to kiss her. He pressed his lips gently against hers, brushing her hair out of her face and holding the back of her head. When he pulled away, he looked at her, searching her face for something. Then, he smirked. "Ready to go again?"


	7. Epilogue

"This one's for you."

The voice came from behind her, and she turned around to meet Michael's gaze. He was holding out a wine glass, filled with Merlot, something he had come to love because of her. She took the glass graciously and swished it around before taking a sip, and moving over slightly on her seat so he could cuddle up beside her. A year had past since they had their first heist, which was only the beginning for them at the time. After a few more heists, the pair decided to call it quits; they had more money than they knew what to do with. Together, they had decided to buy a boat and spend some time sailing on the open waters, drinking wine and spending the days laughing. The boat was anchored far from land, nothing but water surrounding them, and the sky had cleared up just in time for the sunset. Micheal urged her to come outside to watch it with him. They snuggled up together on the cushioned seat, their legs intertwining as she cuddled up against him, her eyes fixated on the descending sun. The water reflected the amber hues radiating from the sunset, and she felt warm in it's direct path. 

"You know it's been a year?" Michael asked her, his hand stroking her hair lightly.

"Exactly?" she looked up at him, his face painted with the coppery light coming from in front of them. 

"Exactly," he nodded, taking a sip of his wine before setting it down on the table next to them. 

She bit her lip as she thought back to their time together. "Funny to think we met in a shitty bar," she laughed, resting her head on his chest. "Right place at the right time?"

"Something like that."

"You ever miss it?"

"What?"

"The jobs."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I like where we are now. Don't give me shit about it being our golden days either. I know you love to say that, drama queen," Michael teased, giving her a little playful shake followed by a quick kiss on her forehead. 

"Those kind of memories are what one would call the peak of our lives."

" _This_ is the peak of my life."

She looked up at Michael, shocked, and he looked back down at her, her eyes sparkling and her skin looking soft from the glow of the sun. He offered her a small smile, brushing the hair out of her face and cupping her cheek. She searched his face as if she would find her words there, but she still came up speechless. Instead of pushing her to say anything, he leaned down and kissed her with such a passion she had never felt from him before. He pulled away briefly, kissing her cheek. 

"I love you," he said softly, kissing her cheek again, and in response she pulled him in closer.

"I love you, too, Michael."

Their lips met again, the happiness filling her entire body. She felt as if she could almost cry; a year ago, she never would have imagined being where she was now, but she wouldn't trade it for the world. They spent the next few moments in each others arms, cuddling and kissing, as if it was the last time they would ever see each other. When she pulled away, he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, "my golden days."


End file.
